burn, baby, burn
by sprinklesomesalt
Summary: Twelve years ago, Kidou Tamaka lost her elder brother in a devastating inferno that tore her parents apart. Now, the flames have stolen the only family she had left. Or so she thought. Returning to Japan after she thought she left it forever, Tamaka is haunted at every step by the ashes of the life she left behind. Burn, baby, burn. The flames will devour everything in their path.
1. prologue

Fire.

Such a curious thing.

Some people think of cheerful bonfires and calm fireplaces.

Others think of burning wood and agonizing screams.

The flames have so many different personalities.

Most people say that fire is the element of life.

From the ashes, life is born, and from the flames, life is taken.

It's a continuous cycle of rebirth and regeneration.

Fire heals.

But there are those of us who know the _truth_.

Fire does not heal.

Fire _kills._

It murders in its dancing flames.

It mocks in its roaring blazes.

It taunts in those glittering coals.

It destroys in those shifting ashes.

It is the element of death.

It scars, it annihilates, it consumes everything in its path.

Fire is _cold._

It is cruel.

It is malicious.

The Devil is adorned with those searing flames.

Hell itself is an inferno.

But most of all…

Fire _burns._

_Burn, baby, burn._


	2. pyre

**a/n: **i apologize for the extreme delay.

**dedication: **to latin.

**disclaimer: **me no own.

* * *

**pyre**

* * *

Ashes covered the blackened wood, but if I squinted, I could imagine the flames licking the walls – the fire burning my home. I knelt and let my fingers run through the pale-gray powder that covered the gutted reminder of my house. Two official stood behind me, grim-faced. The pitifully meagre pile of belongings I could salvage lay between them.

It was chance – almost luck – that I wasn't at home. My mother and I had had an argument, the day before yesterday, about the lack of attention I was paying in class, and my falling grades. She compared me to my brother, telling me how smarter he was. I retorted by yelling that they were no longer alive.

I had never seen hate in my mother's eyes before that day. Needless to say, I had stormed off in a childish fit – like most teenagers are wont to do – and, to rub it in her face, I skipped school yesterday, and hung out at the mall.

I only came back, yesterday night – to a house on fire, and a dead mother. They say that it started due to a short-circuit, in the kitchen, where my mother had been cooking dinner. They say that it had spread so quickly that she couldn't run outside. They say that there was nothing that they could've done.

Bullshit.

There's always something you can do.

I straightened up and dusted my fingers, ignoring the soot marks all over my clothes. Walking over to the pile of belongings, I rummaged through it, managing to extract a silver chain and a ruby signet ring. Pulling the ring on the chain, I scattered the rest of the stuff – it wasn't worth anything, half-charred as it were, and only brought up bad memories.

After all, I was moving back – to Japan, my homeland, the place I had grown up until my parents' messy divorce and exhausting custody battles. My mother had gotten me. My aunt had gotten Sayuki. My father – nothing. Until now.

Later, sitting in the airplane and watching as the moon shone brightly, illuminating the clouds and highlighting the star-strewn sky – I contemplated what would happen now.

I didn't remember Japan much – and my father even less. My mother was the world to me, despite our many disagreements. She was the person who I had gone crying to when I scraped my knee, she was one I went to with my troubles at school, she was the one I talked to about how afraid I was.

I have nearly no memories of my first four years – the ones in Japan. I knew that my older brother – light brown hair, gentle eyes, a warm smile – had died in a plane crash. I remember that the loss had torn apart our parents so much, that they filed for divorce and argued relentlessly over who would take care of Sayuki and me. I don't remember Sayuki much, either. I have photos, a lot of photos of when we were young, but my mother didn't like me looking at them.

She had never gotten over my brother's death. I wondered if that was the reason she didn't try to escape the burning house – she would've been able to see _aniki_ again.

I stared listlessly out the window, not stopping the tears that fell. I had already raged and screamed at my mother's charred body, yelling accusations and insults. I already hated myself for leaving her alone after saying something as cruel as that. I couldn't blame her – but that didn't stop me from blaming myself.

Guilt is a powerful tool – and often used for all the wrong reasons.

Sighing at the thought of starting my life all over again, I slowly drifted off to sleep – and dreamt the same nightmare I had had for the past ten years.

It visited me only when I was extremely stressed, or if something had triggered it. Right now, in a plane, after witnessing the ashes of my house – I was surprised I hadn't thought of it before.

If I had, I would've stayed awake. Nightmares were never pleasant, and this was the worst of them all.

It started, as always in an airplane. I was standing in the aisle, offering juice to a passenger – my brother. His appearance always varied – sometimes he was tall and thin, other times well-muscled, others scrawny and short. We didn't have many pictures of my brother, so all I knew was that he looked similar to Sayuki. What didn't change was the easy-going smile he gave me, and the way he said _imouto_.

But that was only the beginning. The plane began to rumble ominously, and the captain's voice came on the headrest, telling all of the passengers to fasten their seat belts. I remained in the aisle – watching my brother curiously as he talked to the couple sitting next to him, laughing as he looked at the football magazine they had with them.

The next part was the worse. The plane's wings caught on fire, and it slowly began to lose altitude. The captain's voice on the intercom grew more panicked as the plane began descending faster, into the dark void that was the ocean. I remember the fire engulfing the cabin, the shrill screams in the air. I could feel the heat searing my skin, the smoke filling up the cabin as they hurtled towards the ocean.

It was only a matter of which happened first – the fire would consume them, or the impact would kill them.

I woke, as I always did – a second before the plane hit the water, an instant before the fire touched me – the acrid taste of smoke on my tongue and the swirling vertigo in my stomach.

The woman seated next to me noticed my distress and engaged me in a conversation. At the end of the plane ride, I was feeling lighter – happy, even, after loading all my troubles to this kind woman. I did not ask for her name, nor she, mine.

It was a split-second decision that could've saved me the weeks of anguish, the treacherous decisions, the danger that lurked in the shadows.

A decision that could've have saved my life.

* * *

**tbc**


End file.
